Page 31 of Shadows Rising

A flicker of movement catches my eye, Walter, that strange shadow who’s been following Kaia, drifts between us like smoke. He pauses, bobbing in the air as if considering something, before splitting into multiple copies of himself. Each shadow-Walter hovers near one of us before merging back together with what feels suspiciously like satisfaction.

Malrik’s words about needing all of us, combined with Walter’s perfect demonstration of many becoming one, hit me like a punch to the gut. The shadow is literally showing us what Malrik just explained, multiple bonds forming into something greater.

And suddenly, everything clicks.

The ache.

The pull.

The thing that never settled.

Kaia isn’t just ours.

We are hers.

Chapter 16

Kieran

Kaia stands on the balcony, staring out at the storm rolling over the distant mountains. The wind pulls at her hair, stirring her shadows, making them drift and shift with purpose. She’s tense. I can see it in the way she grips the stone railing, in the rigid set of her shoulders.

She knows I’m here.

She’s known since I stepped into the room.

But she doesn’t turn.

“Tell me what you’re not saying.”

Her voice is steady, but I feel the weight beneath it, the demand wrapped in frustration.

I hesitate, though I shouldn’t.

I’ve carried this story for centuries, repeated it so many times it should slip from my lips as easily as breath.

And yet, something about telling her feels… different. Heavier.

More than truth. More than memory.

Still, I keep my voice controlled.

She doesn’t need my emotions.

She needs clarity.

“It wasn’t just about power,” I say finally.

“It was about balance.”

Kaia glances at me, eyes sharp, searching for something in my expression. I make sure she doesn’t find it.

I clasp my hands behind my back, keeping my posture stiff. “We didn’t understand it at first. We didn’t think it mattered.”

She turns fully now, arms crossing over her chest. “You say that like it’s just history. Like it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

I hold her gaze, unflinching. “It is history.”

She lets out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “No, it’s not. Not to you.”